


A note to a dead villain

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Suicide, i can't even remember when I wrote this, lmao this is so depressing, ships if you squint really really hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 15:26:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6571522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'll see you in hell you damned idiot, I'll see you very soon."</p><p>Sherlock can't cope with the death of the criminal mastermind.</p><p>(I don't know what this is I'm so sorry)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A note to a dead villain

**After**

"It'll always be the two of us left. Just me and you..."

I don't know what you did to make the words rattle so much around the mess others used to call my mind, but still, months later I can still hear your voice inside my dreams. But that's who you are - just a network of silken spider threads that dance from the emptiness of a suit called 'Moriarty '.

At times, it's all strange enough to be considered normal in the dream world. My mind palace holds more truth for me than the real world nowadays. Can you call hope, truth? You're still there, you'll always be there in that empty space, and every time I leave you to step into that cold flat plane called Reality, it gets harder and harder to come back.

All this. Is there any point?

Without him.

Without you.

**5 months**

I was very surprised one morning to find the flat dark and John still snoring softly from the other side of the wall when I awoke. Well, you couldn't really call it 'morning', late afternoon would probably be more suited to describe the time of day John, myself and the rest of our tiny bubble of reality existed in.

To him, I suppose, today was never going to be a case. There was nothing to solve, no neat little crime tied with a bow for us both to unravel and then be home in time for a spot of tea and crumpets. In this way, I imagine the day was quite unimportant to John Watson, a day that merely stood equidistant from the previous, and the one which followed it.

Just as I imagine that both our worlds could be no more different from each other's. He's on the side of the angels as you once put it, and I agree, holy light suits Watson in a way, whereas I am much too prone to falling.

My head spins. What had I taken the night before? Morphine or cocaine? Morphine or cocaine? It was all for a case, I told myself. Nothing more than that. My doctor is in the next room, hungover from another night out with Stanford or whoever; everything's irrelevant. But it's not medicine that I need.

Coat. Shoes. Scarf. I'm going over the routine, a thousand times so dull I retreat into myself a little. I debate waking John up but I'm in need of a fix and he's not going to be able to get me one.

I'm walking straight to you.

A name without a face became a face without a name and if there's one thing I'm certain of is that I need to find you.

You are as ambiguous as the ecliptical obliquity of us , these people, these painfully ordinary lives that orbit us cannot be allowed to become collateral damage at any costs. I am not willing to let that happen. And therefore I give myself to you.

Today has been a good day. Your footsteps are not invisible, try well enough and they become visible, if only for the briefest of moments. I will find you and when that time comes I will step out of these lives I have allowed myself to touch. Sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side, and although I cannot lose this war I intend to lose myself to you. Their shallow wounds can heal over time, I've allowed mine to grow too deep. One number. One single phone in a network of lies. Today is a good day, if only inside my head.

**3 months**

I've been busy. The information I've amassed only succeeds to show me the briefest hint of that blank mask you call a face. I imagine in death you remember every detail of the poison that sent you there. I aim to remember every inch.

 The clock is ticking. I know that. You've already got my brother suspicious and attempting to make a deal; the devil's bargain. If only he knew who stood on the other side of those painted horns he's made for himself. I can see you in him, I can see you in every face that passes by and I can see you in my own reflection. You can't kill a shadow, as much as you can kill an idea.

Clever, very clever. John's voice echoes in my head and it makes me think how boring it must be in that head of his. Oh how I envy him. If we were any different, no, if I was different, I think I could see myself happy with him. A life of adventure and eventual simmering down. I think I would like that.

But I'm not. I'm an addict, drowning in the perpetuality of needing a fix. You just happen to be mine. I just hope that the ghost I'm chasing is you.

**1 month**

I see you now. James Moriarty. You're no longer a ghost. You're flesh and blood and somehow, still as nebulous as the day you first eluded us like smoke.

And there is still an 'us'. I won't cut all ties till the very moment I'm certain of you. I've kept myself a place in their world, just for a little longer. And then I'll follow you into the darkness, just like you always wanted. Not long now.

I hope the end is as spectacular as the beginning.

**Two weeks**

You've started the game and now I don't want to be played. Is this what I wanted? I'm not sure.  Maybe you were always a small part of me. That demon that sought to hide itself in the deepest parts of me, a figment of my imagination.

As much as I'd like (or hate, I'm not even too sure myself which one it is) to think that were true, in the last moments of our time together you weren't just a collection of thinly veiled threats and malignant whispers. You were a man , James Moriarty. Maybe not the wisest, or the best, those traits are reserved for that Angel I can't ever hope to reach. No, you who slithers in the darkness are more suited to sit at my level, by my side. I just wish that it had never ended like it did.

**1 Day**

 Can I do this? Can I go through with it? Of course I can, it's for John after all. I think to you on the roof in twelve hours time. Tick tock. Your voice is my countdown. What will I find on that rooftop, will it all go to plan? I know that I am lying to myself, there is nothing I can feel facing you apart from the sickening swoop of all control being snatched from my possession. I will face you tomorrow. And I will not lose.

**0 Days**

You came. You're back is turned but I know it's you James Moriarty, Jim from IT. They're all just words. You're eyes are crazed, I know I'm not the only one who can see the end now. I look into them and it feels like you're reflecting the void straight back at me.

You take my hand and for the first time I see the resolve in your eyes. You're really going to do it.

"Why?"

"I owed you a fall Sherlock, I just forgot to mention that I intended on making you feel more than one."

A single sound cuts through the air and my heart instantaneously. You've left me behind. The shock I feel in that moment is worse than any beheading or bullet wound. There is no spray of blood from my chest, and my glassy eyes don't face the floor. Instead I feel the sickness of betrayal. This was to be your end and not mine. How could you? Leave me behind. After the fall It's been a year since I came back for John. Back from the dead. I should've known it wouldn't matter , that you'd still be pulling the strings from beyond the grave. But I know now what you meant . I.O.U. It's okay though, I've promised myself that I won't fall for him a third time. He no longer needs me as a fill in, he's got the real deal. Mary, her name is, I'm sure you would've liked her, she's just your type. Or maybe you wouldn't, I don't know. I can't even pretend to know what you would've liked if you were still alive. I never knew the man you were, but I knew the name and that name is now a crucial part of me.

I can't live without you. And I don't intend to. So with my whole heart, I'll give my final fall to you.

..................................

**John**

_"...Genius detective found dead in his Baker Street flat from a fatal overdose of cocaine, his friends and family refuse to comment on the matter. Next up a m....._

John Watson is not an optimist. Not anymore. But that doesn't stop him from wishing that somewhere, in a different universe, everything had been different. He gets out of his chair in the empty apartment vacant apart from the piles of packed boxes and the choking absence of a woman he had once thought he loved.

"She wasn't worth losing you for in the end Sherlock, and you knew that, you always knew dammit!"

His forehead is pressed against the wall and he's not entirely sure whether it's a bead of sweat or a tear that rolls undaunted down his cheek. A second later, he is utterly decided and his feet are guided by the trance he's fallen into. One foot on the road. A couple more steps and he'll be there. John Watson smiles to himself.

"I'll see you in hell, you damned idiot, I'll see you very soon."

END


End file.
